Action Bronson La Luna Lyrics
La Luna by Action Bronson
Yo, yo I need a car
I have to go to the Garden
I'm gonna be late, I need one right now
Can we please call La Luna?
Aite
Hello, you've reached La Luna Luxury Car And Limousine Services
Need a ride to the airport, call 1-800
Please hold
Yo what beat is that?
Oh that's just funky, what is that?
Yo what beat is that
It's from the phone
Could rhyme on this
Uh
Hell yeah
Yeah
Came out the pussy wearing Timbs
Oh, my Lord, it's him
Time to put the toys back in the bin
'Cause I'm sick of this shit
Motherfucker sweeter than a licorice stick
And it's rubbing me the wrong way to say the least
I'mma save my peace
And I'mma breeze in the Caprice with the gold seats
Bumpin' Boosie on a slow creep
I'm kinda Xan'ed, lookin' stoned mate, you know me
Asian shooter with the blonde hair, Street Fighter character
Fuck around and suplex 'em through the sailor bar
My life is green, lit, no script
And we all know that money be the motor for this whole shit
Bitch, I'm focused like none other than number one da-da-da
Drop-top, jokes on the youngster, now look at him
Looking slim in the red '89 Testarossa with the wing
Mind blown
The customer representative will be with you shortly
Did you know we can get to you in just seven minutes
Seven minutes
Call 1-800
Your shit lack quality
I'm sitting right behind my chick, making pottery
My first joint was like an odyssey
Uh, the second joint straight rolled like the shaman's feet
Climbed the stairs to the sun
Sacrificed myself for protection of my only son
Keep the bloodline strong while I watch close
To another thousand years, here's a toast
Champagne drippin' down the beard hair
Supermodels sucking while I steer the long pink Fleetwood
Roll a big fat blunt so you know I'm gonna sleep good
Now
Uh
Rockabye baby
Yeah
Rockabye baby
Uh huh
I have to go to the Garden
I'm gonna be late, I need one right now
Can we please call La Luna?
Aite
Hello, you've reached La Luna Luxury Car And Limousine Services
Need a ride to the airport, call 1-800
Please hold
Yo what beat is that?
Oh that's just funky, what is that?
Yo what beat is that
It's from the phone
Could rhyme on this
Uh
Hell yeah
Yeah
Came out the pussy wearing Timbs
Oh, my Lord, it's him
Time to put the toys back in the bin
'Cause I'm sick of this shit
Motherfucker sweeter than a licorice stick
And it's rubbing me the wrong way to say the least
I'mma save my peace
And I'mma breeze in the Caprice with the gold seats
Bumpin' Boosie on a slow creep
I'm kinda Xan'ed, lookin' stoned mate, you know me
Asian shooter with the blonde hair, Street Fighter character
Fuck around and suplex 'em through the sailor bar
My life is green, lit, no script
And we all know that money be the motor for this whole shit
Bitch, I'm focused like none other than number one da-da-da
Drop-top, jokes on the youngster, now look at him
Looking slim in the red '89 Testarossa with the wing
Mind blown
The customer representative will be with you shortly
Did you know we can get to you in just seven minutes
Seven minutes
Call 1-800
Your shit lack quality
I'm sitting right behind my chick, making pottery
My first joint was like an odyssey
Uh, the second joint straight rolled like the shaman's feet
Climbed the stairs to the sun
Sacrificed myself for protection of my only son
Keep the bloodline strong while I watch close
To another thousand years, here's a toast
Champagne drippin' down the beard hair
Supermodels sucking while I steer the long pink Fleetwood
Roll a big fat blunt so you know I'm gonna sleep good
Now
Uh
Rockabye baby
Yeah
Rockabye baby
Uh huh